Out of Site...
by joe stakem
Summary: A guy we all know makes a pit stop at the wrong time (please rr)


Out of sight...

a fanfic by Joe Stakem

A familiar van is speeding up some interstate far away from the painful Sunnydale, and L.A. for that matter. The van is dusty, and adorn with many bumper stickers, and spray painted with various names. The driver is tired from his long journey, weary in mind and body. He's had to overcome so much, had to cope with so much, but it was best that he left. We all know him by name, but does _he _know himself? 

Running out of gas, and not far from Chicago, our Odysseus stops at a diner off exit 13B. He quickly glances at a picture kept in his glove compartment of a familiar group of people, the smiling blonde, the learned Englishman, the plucky comic relief, the driver himself is in the picture, next to his beloved redhead, his budding witch, but purposefully, his thumb covers that up. He thinks of her with every stretch of road he travels between the two of them. He is torn apart for leaving the way he did, yet he felt it was the best way. _It was the best way. She's moved on, it's time for you to do the same._ He thought to himself. _Yeah, but did it have to be a girl?_ He asks himself that question every time he pulls out the photo.

He decided he had looked at the photo long enough, as he put it back in the glove compartment, safely beside the troll doll. _Maybe they're not even thinking about me, _he thought again. He had a tendency to drift to these torturous thought of what could have been and what is now, and what will be. _I'm running again, from Sunnydale, from the beast, from Willow, when will this stop, when will I truly be at peace, by god, I'll run till I find out!_ The storm inside of him swelled again. The raging battle between man and beast within him was still going strong, both sides were screwed up. The driver wearily got out of the van and walked into the diner. He entered, the bell on the door clanged loudly, it began to rain, tears from the sky. The comely woman behind the counter, with apron stained from cherry pie and various other distinct foods, looked his way. "Well howdy red, what can I do you for?" She seemed friendly enough, our hero spoke back. "I'd just like a burger, rare, and fries, and maybe some of that pie." The woman, (Becky as her name tag said) smiled, a radiant smile, a smile of a woman who didn't fit into some stupid off-exit diner, and grabbed her note pad and quickly scribbled his order. The driver, tired, sat down at the stool farthest from the door. _Always running, always alone_. These thoughts were hell, especially on a long stretch of road, at night, where it's nothing but the dark, and you're thoughts, nagging at the back of you're skull, driving you insane, slowly killing you. He had these thoughts more often now, though it's been some time since he left Sunnydale, left...her. So much pain over one girl. _Ah yes, but she was the only one who understood you, who saw the beast and didn't run, who didn't want to kill you, and she's gone now, it's all gone now._ He lowered his head a little. "Penny for your thoughts?" Becky asked, while wiping off the counter. "Sorry, mine are a dollar." He had gotten use to avoiding people, to not even making eye contact anymore, he didn't want them to see. "Aw come on, atleast tell me your name, stranger." _I could atleast leap over this counter and rip you to shreds if this was a full moon, or if I was really pissed off,_ he thought, this made him smile. then he spoke. "My name's Oz, and I'm hungry as hell." Becky smiled. "Your food will be ready in a hot minute." Just then a man stepped through the door. Oz had heard him before he even reached the door step. He tries hard to suppress all that comes with being a wolf, the heightened sense of smell, the night vision, the exceptional hearing, but he can't, especially when there are others around, others like him. He has encountered many like him on the road, but he doesn't go to them, because he's not like them._ alone_. The man walked with a fat waddle the keys on his belt jingled. He was a state trooper, his name plate read Larson. He was a heavy set man, typical of a trooper who's been on the job to long and getting fat in old age. "What say Becky?" He said loudly, as she was not in sight. "I'll have the usual." We could all guess as to what it was, whatever it was, is was going straight to his gut. With the grace of god, he got himself into the stool next to Oz, and swiveled uncomfortably toward him. "Hey there youngster, you from these parts?" Oz, still facing forward, answered, "Passing through." "Well, that's good. It's best you do that." Feeling edgy, Oz responded. "Why is that?" "Well," he shifted moods, from happy fat guy, to not so chipper. "Well, we had some nasty things to happen 'round here, up and down this stretch in fact." This piqued Oz's interest. "What kind of things?" he asked Trooper Larson. "Well, I ain't supposed to say, but several bodies have turned up along this here stretch, torn up in a real gruesome manner. It's best if you don't be here round nightfall, or atleast be indoors. Hell, I been tellin' Becky here to close up for awhile, but she won't listen for nothin'." Just then Becky came out the back with Oz's order. "Oh Phil, leave Oz be. He don't need to hear 'bout these here murders." "Now these _ain't _no murders, Beck, I suspect it's some darn coyotes or somethin." "Now Phil you know there ain't no coyotes in Illinois, this is the work of a very sick individual, or _individuals_. I don't know of an animal alive who could do some of the thangs that were done to those poor souls." Before taking a bite of his burger, Oz spoke again. "You'd be surprised at what some animals could do..."

TO BE CONTINUED in "Chapter 2: The Hunt."


End file.
